Too Many Words
Written and spoken, turned to prose
Misread, misheard - misunderstood.
How many ways can it be said,
Look this way for the Light.
For the darkened past needn't be ahead
There is more to see, and more to be
More to live and more to free,
Always more, much more to me.
The simplicity of what appeared,
If only you'd look again.
For what you've judged you have mistook
As something far less than it is.
Another to discard and move along
Toward the next in line.
Another hand, another hold,
Another love, for a moment sold.
Spoken too much and too many,
And all the wrong words appeared.
Syllables blur into a drone,
And in the light all is clean,
A nothingness, except Alone.
The light is empty, devoid of feel,
Without something to touch,
It travels on - sight unseen.
And finally Shine gives away,
The last rays of a broken day.
To let the night take the pain,
To let the darkness cover shame.
No more words to be read,
No more words to misunderstand,
Fingers slip from each other,
Grip of silence takes the hand.
Beautiful legacy of tenderness, poetry and friendship of his wife with his little daughter Smallsteps, prolonging your surname Mr tarazk, and waving maternal privilege.
This is so special!
That is nice
That is nice and beautiful
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STOPThis poem carries such a profound sense of longing, miscommunication, and the weight of solitude. The contrast between light and dark is striking; light is often seen as hopeful, yet here, it’s empty, devoid of feel, leaving darkness as a kind of refuge, a place to let pain settle.
I found "Another hand, another hold, / Another love, for a moment sold" is particularly striking, capturing the transient nature of connections that are often fleeting and superficial.